


Strangers

by Zeffy



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, Season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeffy/pseuds/Zeffy
Summary: “Where to, Carrie?”“What?”"Oh, sorry. You look wonderful, Carrie. Can I buy you a drink? What do you do for a living? Wow, how interesting. Do you like the music here? Tell me the sad story about your fake ring...  Should I continue?"Carrie and Quinn meet at the bar before they meet at work.





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SNQA for beta-reading!

She's in the all too familiar hotel bar down the street, again, second time this week, hundredth time total. She keeps wondering if the staff recognizes her (of course they do), seeing her drinking and then walking out with someone new every time. Not that she cares, she just lazily imagines the thoughts of that good looking young barman. His face doesn't give it away, which she likes – she really can't say if he is judging her or wants to get into her pants or generally just doesn't care. Perfect quality for his job, she thinks, tipping him twice the price of her drink. 

It never takes long for some guy to offer her company, but today the bar is almost empty. She just drinks and waits. 

It’s fun – or, it is supposed to be, - but she’s forgotten that, almost. She realizes she doesn't do it for fun any more. She does it to calm down, level the anxiety. She's good, but she doesn't put her soul into it, she knows the game too well, can predict every fucking move, doing it automatically – the words, the looks, small gestures, meaningful smiles. She often feels bored. 

Today though it's different. Today she feels it – the rush, the excitement, the drive for the hunt. The Brody operation is about to start again and she is nervous (but in a good way), she wants to bring the fucker down but at the same time, deep down – and she can admit it to herself only after the third drink - she wants to see him again, even if only to look him in the eye. See that it wasn't all play from his side. It is a strange vulnerability that scares her, and now she desperately needs to fix it, to balance it, outweigh with something, even if it is only for one evening. 

Carrie looks around. There's the guy, table at the corner, who keeps throwing interested glances at her. While drinking and talking to (or pretending to listen to) the girl. Who doesn't seem to notice that his attention is elsewhere - doesn't want to, more likely. Poor thing, she's into him – Carrie can see it even looking at her back, by the way she leans in when he speaks, by the way she adjusts her hair a little too often, and by the way she tilts her head. 

The guy smiles at his date – dimples and all, and yes he is totally charming- but it's fake through and through, she can tell. It’s professional deformation, to see things like that. He’s good, but isn’t trying too hard, so, from time to time, just for a short moment, his eyes give him away – she can see he is tired of playing too, that he does it a lot. 

When he looks at Carrie the next time, she makes eye contact and raises her glass slightly. The guy turns away and doesn't look at her any more. Soon he and his date stand up and move to the exit. He probably gets a taxi for the girl and says he will get the next. 

But he’s not going to. One quick discreet glance towards Carrie on his way, sharp, straight, for a fraction of a second, and she feels it in her stomach, the sensation you get at the highest point on a swing, levity and breath caught. 

She has missed it, and she smiles to herself even, because it's so fucking good - to feel. 

She waits for him to return, but it takes him too long. 

She starts thinking she misread him, or his date was more insistent and got him to go with her. 

She starts feeling slightly disappointed (and surprised that she is so much invested already). But she shakes it off. At the moment she starts scanning the bar for somebody else, he returns and goes directly to her. Sits beside her without asking. Just looks, doesn't break the silence, coerces her to make a move. 

“Hi”, she says. 

“Hi. Peter.” 

He stretches his hand. 

“Carrie.” She responds, shakes his hand – fake serious expression- because, really, a handshake? Are they going to fuck or sign a contract? He smiles and doesn't let go of her hand, examines the ring, chuckles. 

“Where to, Carrie?” 

“What?” 

"Oh, sorry. You look wonderful, Carrie. Can I buy you a drink? What do you do for a living? Wow, how interesting. Do you like the music here? Tell me the sad story about your fake ring... Should I continue?" 

"Huh... no. No, I guess it's enough." 

“Hey, I just suggest to skip the boring part.” 

“You have some nerve.” 

She makes sure her annoyance comes through. 

“Is that a yes or a no?” – he smirks. 

“Did you just dump your girlfriend to try your luck with me, in such a bold way?” 

“Why would you care?” 

She thinks about it and - she really doesn't, and has no reason, or right, to judge. 

“Good point. I don't. Not really.” 

“Shall we, then?” 

He gestures toward the exit, with small confident smile. 

It doesn't go the way it usually goes, but whatever. He is handsome and he is blunt and she is so tired of pretending. So, his offer - no questions asked, no lies said - sounds like a good plan. 

A few minutes later they are at the hotel elevator and he backs her against the wall the moment when the doors close. 

They both stare. They breathe. 

The elevator is going up. Nothing happens. 

First floor. 

She takes a moment to examine him. He doesn't seem to be an office worker. He is not wearing a suit - he's dressed in jeans and a grey button down, sleeves are rolled up showing his forearms. 

He doesn't use cologne. She likes it, just his skin, and a fresh smell of laundered clothes. 

Second floor. 

His hand rests against the wall above her head. He leans forward and she's having a hard time concentrating. 

He's much taller. Blue eyes. Looking down at her intently. No polite sweetness, no smiles. 

She is looking at his lips. At the stubble on his face. Thinks how it will feel against her skin. 

Third floor. 

He bends his head just slightly. Their foreheads almost touching. She can't look at him any more, but she feels his breath tickling her skin. 

Fourth floor. 

For a second she thinks she senses his hesitation. She's not sure what to make of it but it's interesting - second thoughts - is it because of the girl – guilt for dumping her - probably not, he hardly made any promises - so it has to be about her, Carrie, but what - 

And then they are kissing. His hands everywhere. Her hands pressing him closer. It’s rushed, feverish, there's something about him that does the trick and she's all in, not questioning his motives, not thinking about – anything, except for his touch, his lips on hers, his mouth on her neck. 

Fifth, sixth, seventh floor.. 

At some point somebody enters, and they have to stop, she's out of breath and her heart is beating in her ears; they don't let go of each other and resume as soon as they are alone. She starts unbuttoning his shirt in the corridor when they exit the elevator. They kiss all the way to the room, and more next to the door as he tries to open it with his left hand, but fails time after time, being too busy getting under her blouse with his right, without breaking the kiss. 

When they finally get inside, they undress each other in mere seconds. She doesn't have time to consider what's going on with her but the intensity of it is unexpected. She pauses, sitting on his lap, locking her eyes with his – seeing he is all in, too; not pretending, not aiming at being technical, not trying to make an impression, and, as she is, is a little confused. 

She presses her mouth to the spot between his shoulder and his neck, so not to cry out loud while lowering herself onto him. She loses it quickly though, no longer caring about making sounds, and he does too, he moans as they share messy kisses and he guides her to quicken the pace until nothing else but their connection exists, bringing them to the peak, and they hold each other afterward, panting and sweaty and bare. 

He doesn't give her time to come round and start rationalizing. He doesn't let her think what the hell has just happened. He lays her down on the bed, continues kissing her – everywhere, and does things with his hands and tongue that make her lose her mind and she pays back and it lasts for hours and she doesn't notice how she falls asleep eventually in his arms. 

*** 

She wakes up at 7am – shit, she's gonna be late. She's alone in the bed, but hears the water running in the bathroom. Perfect, she thinks, getting dressed. If she leaves right now, she can still get home to shower and change, plus spare them both unnecessary conversations and morning awkwardness. 

It’s easier to dismiss the sudden intimacy of what was supposed to be just a fuck, in the light of day. Just a delusion, a result of loneliness – how pathetic is it, she thinks sarcastically, she's better than that, she should be. 

Whatever it was last night, it's over now, will never happen again. She hurries out, closing the door quietly behind her. 

*** 

Her morning is full of phone calls and organizing shit: the Brody operation is set in motion and everything is happening very fast, she feels she's late everywhere and curses herself for falling asleep at the hotel instead of going home. She has a row with Saul who couldn't reach her at fucking 5am in the morning like she's not allowed to have a life, but she knows he is right, they have a lot of work, new ops room in a safe house is up and running - by someone apparently sent by Estes – like there aren't enough problems already. Someone else is going to be in charge of _her_ operation, and she has a row with Saul again, about that. By the time she opens the door and enters the room she's strung up and ready to kill anyone who’d dare to cross her way. 

Estes is the first one she sees in there. She's about to ask him to go outside to yell at him privately, but the words are stuck in her throat as she sees who he's talking with. 

 

_It's him. Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> Two awesome fics that explore CQ casual hook up possibility and that inspired me to write this: [One Night Stand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1159182) by koalathebear and [Half Lies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7099087/chapters/16130836) by finlyfoe.


End file.
